Prisoner
by FaithinBones
Summary: Before Booth was in the FBI he was in the United States Army. While he served during Operation Desert Storm, he was taken prisoner by the Republican Guard.


This story was requested by Mendenbar. I hope this is what you wanted.

I don't own Bones.

Oooooooooooooooooooo

Suddenly awake, he tried to move his hands and found that they were strapped down to the bed he was lying on. He knew that he needed to escape. Booth struggled and pulled his wrists trying to loosen them, but despite his best effort the straps remained tight. Afraid that they might come back any minute, he tried to move his legs only to find that they were immobile too. The little movement he did manage caused pain to lance from his feet to knees to his groin and he felt tears spring go this eyes.

The last thing he wanted to do was cry, but his body was betraying him and he couldn't stop it. Grunting, he twisted his arms trying to stretch the straps, but nothing he did helped loosen their hold. Sweat breaking out on his forehead, he knew that time was against him. He needed to escape and quickly, but since he couldn't get the straps to part from his wrists, he knew he was in serious trouble.

His captors had beaten him badly. At first they had used their fists against him, but he had taken it as stoically as he could. He kept telling himself that it wasn't any worse than what his own father had done to him when he was a kid. He could take as much as they could give. The Republican guard had beat him until his upper torso, shoulders, arms and face were swollen and marred with deep purple bruises.

Amazed that Booth hadn't broke from such a severe beating, his torturers had finally tipped his chair over so that his back was on the floor. Since his wrists and ankles were tied to the chair, he was unable to move. They had removed his boots and socks and they had ordered him to speak, to tell them what his mission was, where his unit was.

The two men whose job it was to get him to talk were losing patience and they wanted answers. They were getting pressure from their superiors and feared the consequences of not getting the American to talk.

Booth was certain that once he did tell them what they wanted to hear, he would be killed and if he wanted to live, he would have to hold out as long as possible. He needed to give his men a chance to find him. He knew they were looking for him, but he had to give them time.

The torturers had shown him a rubber hose and they had laughed. They were amused that Booth didn't realize just how much pain he was about to feel. Slowly one of the men moved so he was facing Booth's feet and he began to hit the soles of their prisoner's feet.

Screaming in pain, Booth knew he had never felt pain like that before and he wasn't sure how long he could hold on. Unable to remain silent while he was being beat, he decided it didn't matter and screamed loudly. Somehow he thought it helped with the pain and he needed all the help he could get.

He must have passed out and now he was lying in a bed, strapped down and unable to move. Afraid to think about what else was coming, he knew he had to remain strong. He had to give his men a chance to find him or all that he had been through would be pointless.

The sound of a door nearby opening, Booth stopped struggling and closed his eyes. Terrified about what was coming, he tried to control his fear. His feet were already broken and so was his right leg, what more they were going to do to him made him fear that he was about to die. He knew he wasn't superman and he couldn't put up with much more. He just prayed that he didn't dishonor himself. His honor was all he owned that he valued.

Waiting for what was to come next, Booth was surprised when he thought he detected perfume in the air. Careful to keep his eyelids mere slits, he tried to see what was going on without moving.

"So you're awake. Would you like some ice chips?"

The voice a light feminine voice, Booth opened his eyes and turned his head. The woman standing next to him was wearing hospital scrubs and was smiling at him. Her hair a deep copper red, her eyes light green, Booth stared in wonder at the woman.

"Not talking?" She smiled kindly and dipped a spoon in to a plastic cup she was holding. With a few captured chips of ice on the spoon, she moved it towards Booth's lips and waited. "It's alright, it's just ice."

Wary, Booth opened his mouth and let her drop the ice in his mouth. Not sure who she was and where he was, he decided that his captors were trying to play mind games with him. Determined not to tell them anything, he remained silent and let the ice melt in his mouth.

"You're safe, Corporal." Digging the spoon in the ice once more, she retrieved more chips and offered them to Booth. "You're home."

Filled with distrust, Booth took the ice chips into his mouth and continued to stare at the woman. He wasn't going to let them trick him and that was a fact. He just wondered how long they would play this game before they started to hurt him again.

Not sure if the corporal was silent because he couldn't talk or wouldn't talk, the nurse placed the glass down on the small table and checked the monitors and tubes. Satisfied that everything was as it should be, she patted him on the shoulder. "I'll let Dr. Kent know you're awake."

After she left the room, Booth continued to struggle with the straps on his wrists. Desperate to escape, he pulled and yanked, but was unable to loosen the bindings. After a while he heard the door open again.

"I was told you were awake." The lean middle-aged African American man walked briskly across the room and placed his hands on Booth's shoulders. "Stop struggling. You're going to hurt yourself."

Stilling his struggle, Booth stared at the stranger and refused to say anything. He still wasn't sure he wasn't being played with.

The corporal's silence a little surprising, Dr. Noel Kent smiled at the young man. "You're not in Iraq anymore. You were rescued eight days ago. You were sent immediately to Kuwait where your right leg was operated on and you were stabilized . . . Your injuries were very serious. To put it plainly, your right leg is broken, well your tibia which is the lower part of your leg. It has a compound fracture and we were worried about sepsis for a while. From there you were flown to Germany and operated on again. The surgeons worked on your feet and once they were sure that you could travel they flew you back here."

The look of distrust on Booth's face made him pause, but just for a moment.

"Now I need you to understand that your leg wasn't the worst damage done to you. Both of your feet were broken. The thugs that beat you broke your calcaneus, cuneiform and cuboid bones. I don't really expect you to know what those are . . . let's just say your feet are a mess. They did what they could in Germany and then sent you here. You're at Walter Reed Hospital. I've looked at your feet and I'm afraid you're going to need more surgery if you ever plan to walk again. I'm pretty good and I'm confident that I can fix it so you can. It's just going to take time and a lot of rehab. Do you understand?"

The man standing next to him sounded like an American, but that story about him being rescued eight days earlier seemed like a stretch since he didn't remember any of it. His last memory was hearing his right leg break after his torturers had hit him with a metal pipe. Now he was being told he was home and safe, but his hands and feet were tied down. Something was definitely wrong.

"Still not talking?" Dr. Kent patted Booth's shoulder. "That's alright. You'll talk when you want to." The surgeon raised the sheet and looked at Booth's cast encased feet. "I plan to operate on you in two weeks. I need to let the repairs done so far start to heal. There was some muscle damage. You're going to be in pain until we can get these fixed up, so it's important to take your pain medicine when we give it to you. I could explain what is wrong with your feet and why you need more surgery, but you've just woken up after being in a coma for seven days . . . When your people found you, you were unconscious and I was told that you were that way until they got you got to the hospital in Kuwait. You were quite the problem for them there. When you woke up, you pulled out your IVs, fell out of bed and hit your head on the floor. There was no way you could walk on that broken leg or feet. They had to strap you down to protect you from yourself . . . We're not sure if you're just sensitive to anesthesia or it could have been the concussion you also had, but you've been asleep since they operated on you in Kuwait . . . I guess the thugs that held you captive beat you pretty badly. Just looking at the bruises on your arms, chest and face I'd say you're lucky you don't have more broken bones than you do."

Angry that he was still tied up, Booth resumed his struggle and pulled on his arms trying to loosen his wrists from their bonds.

"I really need you to stop that, Corporal." Dr. Kent placed his hands on Booth's shoulders and held him still. "The only reason you're still strapped down is because I'm afraid you're going to hurt yourself. You're not talking and I don't know if you're even aware of what I'm saying or not. I can't free you until I know for sure you're not a danger to yourself. Do you understand me?"

Unable to trust the man, Booth pulled on his straps glaring at the man who claimed he was an American Doctor. "Let me go! Let me go if you're telling me the truth! Untie me!" His voice rising he was shouting by the time he finished. Desperate, he continued to struggle with his bonds.

Afraid that he was going to aggravate his injuries, Dr. Kent removed a small bottle and needle from his smock and injected Booth. "You need to calm down. Once I'm sure you're aware of what is going on and why, I'll release you, but not until then."

Suddenly tired, Booth shook his head. "You're lying. I won't talk. I won't . . . talk . . . I won't . . . "

Sad for the young man, Dr. Kent patted the now sleeping man, turned and left the room.

Ooooooooooooooo

Suddenly awake, Booth realized he was in the same room he had been in when he'd been knocked out. Furious that he couldn't escape his captures, he yanked on the straps holding his wrists and started to curse.

"That's enough, Shrimp." Hank Booth stood up and shuffled over to where his grandson lay. "You need to settle down. Once you prove that you're not going to hurt yourself, they'll take those things off."

Startled, Booth turned his head and stared at his grandfather. "Pops?" His voice raspy, he cleared his throat and said it again. "Pops?"

Hank was relieved that his grandson recognized him. "Yeah, of course it's me." The old man gripped Booth's shoulder and squeezed. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up the first time, but I was downstairs getting something to eat. Dr. Kent said you kind of went crazy pulling on the straps and he knocked you out for a bit. You've been out of it for about six hours I guess."

His throat dry, Booth licked his chapped lips. "Water . . . can I have some water?"

The old man reached for the glass on the stand and spooned some ice into Booth's mouth. "If you keep the chips down and don't throw up, I can give you some water in a bit . . . Do you know where you are?"

He thought about it and finally nodded his head. "Some guy said I'm at Walter Reed . . . am I?"

Slowly nodding his head, Hank spooned more ice in to Booth's parched mouth and explained. "That was Dr. Kent. He's going to operate on your feet so you can walk again . . . yeah, you're at Walter Reed. You got here a few days ago. I've been here for two days. I had to get Mrs. O'Riley to watch after Jared while I'm here. I can't just pull him out of school right now. He has some finals this week . . . Seeley, you were hurt bad, but you're going to be alright. Dr. Kent says he can make sure you walk again, so don't worry about that."

Calmer now that he could see that he really wasn't being held prisoner anymore, Booth tried to relax. "I didn't tell them anything . . . they tried, but I didn't tell them anything."

So proud of his boy, Hank wiped a tear forming in his lashes. "Yeah, I figured . . . I was scared when they reported you missing, but thank God they found you . . . You're going to be alright, Shrimp. You're going to be fine."

"Yeah." Booth saw his grandfather was trying to hide his tears, but he wasn't going to embarrass him about it. "Yeah, I will. Thanks for coming to see about me, Pops. I love you."

"I love you too, Seeley." Hank cleared his throat. "Hey, let me go and find that doctor and get you out of those straps . . . you're going to behave aren't you? No trying to get out of bed?"

Booth shook his head. "No, Pops . . . I promise."

After the old man left the room, Booth exhaled deeply. "I knew I could do it. I knew I'd make it. Just hold out. That's all I had to do." He felt tears escape his lashes and he wasn't embarrassed about it. "Thank you God. Thank you."

Ooooooooooooooooooooo

Let me know what you think of my story. I appreciate it.


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